I'm Hearing Voices

[Not canonically accurate due to lack of transcripts. Simply put from the mun's imagination]

Matt really couldn't remember the last time he'd been this uncomfortable.

Well, no he could. It involved a few people ribbing him down at homocide. He'd expected people akin to Lennie Briscoe in New York and it was disconcerting to realize that most of them were-well- jerks. That must be why I'm doing this

He lowered his head. No. That's not why. His reason was small and brownhaired and named Molly and if the bastard was there...
---------------

He is six years old and his mother is telling him that his father has gone away.

Matt's response isn't the typical six-year-old response. Boys were supposed to be devoted to their fathers. He'd found Maury Parkman entirely unsatisfactory however and the very idea of following that man anywhere-missing him-

"...He'll come back."

Matt remembers staring at his mother with the eyes of an adult. (she said that later, she was always saying things like that).

"Really? Damn." he practically tears at the carpet to get away-dropping in front of the TV and dropping out of the world.

---------------

don't think about that it'll make it harder. Molly needed him now and he'd face his demons for her if anything.

He shifted his weight and glanced at his cabinmate, "...So why aren't we flying like normal people?"

Y'know, being in the belly of a cargo-jet isn't really high on Matt's list of "Things I want to do."

There's only so far you can go after yelling "POLICE!". It's a reflex for Matt by now. He shoulders open the door and glances behind him to make sure that Nathan's staying a safe distance back.

The concern isn't unfounded.

His father's a criminal, a dirtbag-a scumbucket. He abandoned his wife and his son because-because because he's got super powers just like you?

That thought was too disquieting to think about. Matt shoved it out of his mind, gun lowered.

Matt is dreaming.
Tell me what I'm thinking now Parkman?
It is particularly vivid, this dream. There are burns that he knew how to fix once but he hasn't been a boyscout in a dog's age. we're all just dogs in the end if we're lucky.

What's really disconcerting is the man in front of him scribbling on the floor. HE HAS NO HEAD
You always jump the gun man. It's one of the reasons you're easy to relate to..

He only has half a head.




Fingers touch shoulder and the man vanishes like smoke. The Prophets are always the first to go. leaving behind a sketchpad. Matt suspects, upon closer inspection, that the images that make him turn away in disgust are drawn in blood.

"Hey Parkman."

Matt drops the sketchbook. Dust mights scatter to the floor and ressurect.
You can't claim credit for being that creative sweetheart..

"Thompson......"



There's a hole in his head. It's big.
See that? That's not your work. Why are you plagerizing?.

It's leaking thoughts and matter.
sTop LoOking At ME!

Matt rises, "Thompson...Thompson-" He saw him shot and saw him die, "Thompson, Thompson..."

"That's my name Parkman. Don't wear it out."

You call yourself a fucking hero? What do you have to be afraid of kid?

He takes a step forward and Matt runs.
--------

The eyes are not here
There are no eyes here
In this valley of dying stars
In this hollow valley
This broken jaw of our lost kingdoms

There's a note tacked to the wall in what was an examine room once upon a time. WhEn U CloSE thE wOrlD AlL U caN dO iS NePo EhT tXeN. We were hoping for someone else, but for now you'll do..

"heY pARKmAN."
The thompson thing is in the doorway. It's lips are pulled back in a snarl. You'll do just as well as far as my vengeance is concerned. No man wants to die..

There's a gun. It's a colt.
Is it the famous winchester gun!?!
It's nothing special.
Awww.
It whispers death in smoke.

There is a mad scramble for a weapon amid a forest of needles and dried wounds transfixed on paper. Thompson's gun advances, mouth a gaping maw, And now we can end your false pretentions, you fucking fake! You fucking pussy! What makes you think that you're better then me?

he pleads for half a heartbeat before something jams into the dead thing's chest. It's sharp. It's pointy. It's Poetic justice. Giving a character his due A pencil.

The prophet smiles, "Guess I'm only a hero after the fact."

He leaves wings behind him that turn into feathers that Matt collects one after another and it's only when metamorphasizes into a portrait that he stops and stares.

The picture is too gruesome for words.
But what's worse is the line underneath. "YOu SHouLDN't HAvE coME bAcK." Do you have time for mindgames you fool? you have work to do. A life awaits you. A mission to complete..

his brain spins. For Thine is the Kingdom


For Thine is
Life is
For Thine is the

This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the worldends
Not with a bang but a whimper.
And he screams.
-----

When Parkman wakes up he's drenched with sweat and increasingly convinced that his dreams have been written by someone or something considerably psychotic.

EXT. KIRBY PLAZA – NIGHT -- LATER]

(Emergency personnel are at the scene.)

(Molly and Mohinder are walking across the plaza.)

MOLLY: Wait!

(Molly breaks away from Mohinder and runs over to Matt’s gurney as the paramedics head toward the ambulance.)

MOLLY: (pleads) Please don't die, Officer Parkman. You're my hero.

(Mohinder puts his hands on Molly’s shoulders and pulls her back as the paramedics push the gurney away. He kneels next to Molly as they watch the paramedics.)

MOHINDER: (v.o.) We dream of hope. We dream of change.

(Matt’s gurney is put into the back of the ambulance.)

MOHINDER: (v.o.) Of fire, of love, of death. And then it happens. The dream becomes real.

(The ambulance doors are closed.)


We dream of hope



There's a voice in the back of Matt Parkman's mind. This is a dream he's dreamed before. There are words in a strange tongue echoing throughoutout his head you're dead

"Alright. Take it easy sir, you're here."
Didn't you know I've only just begun?



But the smell in his dream is all wrong. His eyes are doing their best to open wider, take it all in, but the faces are obscured. We've got a bad connection

The Paramedics are shadows, "Call my...Call my.." His police training has flown out the window. Who was he supposed to call? The ghostbusters are fictional no matter where you're sitting Matthew..

"We know who to call."

A door opens and someone begins to work on his straps. The leather digs into the skin, it tastes like failure. Sometimes the hero has to die.

----

We dream of change

This isn't a carnival Matty! We're dealing with issues of life and death!
Matt is screaming.
"Thou art weighed in the balances, and art found wanting."
It has something to do with the paramedics with their grinning faces opening mouths without tongues. He's quite sure of this.
You missed that fucking brass ring Matty-Boy.
"The Roman Doctors worked without tongues. They were trained to ignore the sound of their patients screaming."

He begins to struggle frantically as antiquated and archaic materials are lowered over him. An operating table twisted, the sides of which are coated with dust and spiderwebs and the blood of years.

He wants it to be over, if anything because it's so damn gothic and gothic went out with grunge.
How very Californian of you.

---

Of fire-

For a moment his world is eclipsed by something calling to him from beyond.

"Patient is lapsing."

"BP108. Blood OX is low."


Of Love-

"Please."

They smell of death, decay and the grave. They're swarming all over him.

"Please."
I don't want to die!
"Please."

The paramedics laugh as he calls to mind Janice's face. For a moment the abbrations vanish and he is left with the grave's silence.

"Give me a reason."

You're not popular. You're not good visuals.


"Give me a reason to cheat death."
----


of death-


Matt is burning, swaddled in crawling sheets with the sweat and tears of their last thousand inhabitants. He starts thrashing wildly, "I don't want to die!"

"Neither did I."
This is a dream, oh god, please let this be a dream!
And in that sleep of death what dreams may come...
Are you sure this is a dream? Or was that other life the reality? Do the dead dream?
Andd I gave my heart to seek and search out by wisdom concerning all things that are done under heaven: this sore travail hath God given to the sons of man to be exercised therewith.

Matt closes his eyes tight and tries to remember being alive.

The paramedics breath stale breath upon him.wispering words without tongues

"...Save me." There are tears running down matt's cheeks as he fights to wake up, "Save me. Please. Save me."

"You of all people should know, that for all of our professions at being heroic, at being heroes, there's no such thing."

One raises a scapel.
----

And then it happens-
And I turned myself to behold wisdom, and madness, and folly: for what can the man do that cometh after the king? even that which hath been already done.

"Patient is flatlining!"

The hands go down on healed scars and Matt tries to claw at their non-existent eyes roaring like a thing posessed.

----

The dream becomes R E A L.

It's a pity we couldn't save him, the guy was young. The good die young as they say. Yeah there is that. What's the point of keeping up at this job if you don't save a few? Sadistic torture? Oh yeah. I forgot. The good stuff. Besides, he was supposed to die. You think? ....That's what we were told. Hear that? You were supposed to die Parkman! Supposed to die!
"No!....."

The sound of a door being closed-

Just as Matt Parkman wakes up with a scream to put a hand to his throbbing chest and come away with-

Red.





Dark.

Dark.
Red.

Why does it always center around the bar?

This is the second time he's found himself in the place, this time standing outside and watching the wind ripple across the lake.

His father. His father It's too much to take with everything else he has to deal with. All he wants to do is help Molly.

She's the child he'll never have after all.

The bar is empty. It's a place that Matthew Parkman hasn't been in...in too long. It started a hell of alot of things for him too. The bar was where he first found his abilities, learned to use them, became...Something else.

Someone else.

Why his subconscience has brought him back here is easy to understand. He feels safe here, a hell of alot safer then he did and does.

Especially with his father on the loose.

But he can't help but feel that he's here today for a reason with the features outside the window blurring and indistinct. Everything's faded, fuzzy, blurred, right up until there are footsteps on the edge of his vision and he whirls, wary.

"I didn't expect you."

Caution is the name of the game for a Director of Homeland Security. That would be why he's sitting towards the back and watching the patrons go as he rifles through a stack of files provided by bar.

He's stuck.

Which is all right (he assumes) because he's Director of Homeland Security and no one would dare harm him.

So he's stuck and sitting towards the back reading through a thick stack of files that read something like this.

NAME: Allison Markowitz
ALIAS: 'Allie', 'Veritas'
DOB:-

At the end of what should be a very standard list of information is a final entry.

ABILITY: Retrocognition.
STATUS In custody.


Stupid Bitch had the affrontry to say that "She would have done the same as him if faced with what he'd gone through."

Matt Parkman is most often alone. He likes it that way. A good leader goes before his people. Asks of them nothing that he wouldn't be willing to do himself. It is a trick of power that one should make oneself absent from daily affairs. Work alone.

Besides, alone people don't question his methods, and alone he doesn't have to deal with...with humans looking at him out of the corner of his eye and wondering. Always wondering. He doesn't call them on it either, he's developed a look that says, "I know what you're thinking even if you don't know it."

And if they keep thinking he always tacks on a tilt of his head that means in any sort of language Stop it now.

Now is men who disobey him who are gone the next day from the office.

Now is being asked to personally oversee Homeland Security's Effort to "Stop Terrorist Insurgents at the source" and protect mankind from "Outside Influences."

Now Is people fixing him with sullen and angry glances as if they could see him (perhaps some of them could?) Through the video tape. He never visits the detention centers himself. He only sees the after effects.

A man with the power to amplify vibration and sound. A woman who walks through walls. An artist who's paintings come to life.

They have jobs. They're doctors and lawyers and soldiers. They're fast-food workers and department store clerks and programmers. They're homeless men and pilots and kids, (The kids are the worst)
He sees past all that to what they are underneath. Beyond their wailing shouts and angry curses. Beyond the few who try to use their abilities to do him and his agents harm.

They're enemies.
It's so simple. They took from him everything That he was. Everything good about him and what he served.

They're villians.
It was one of them, a major distributor of comics who had illustrated it to him most clearly. The old man hadn't put up a fight when they arrested him, though thousands of humans and non-humans alike had stormed the streets outside the capital until the President issued a statement. The old man had gathered himself with dignity and put on his sunglasses before turning to Matt and smiling "...Coulda come out of a fucking comic book."

Matt had led the old man away himself and learned three days later that he'd died in Nevada. Just after the explosion at the National Science Center. The death of 120, 130 people all at the hands of this old man and his...his brethren..

It could have come out of a comic book. The American flag flapping at night under some Artist's pencil. The deft bright colors of another artist's pen illustrating the bright and burning orange.

Molly Walker had once said, "You're my Hero."

He could make it up to her. Make it up to all of them. Get the rest. Get the evil ones so that the rest of them could be safe. If they had to lock up folks? It was for their own safety. You couldn't make an omlet without breaking a few eggs. Some things had to be sacrificed. He understood that.

Sacrifice is what heroes do after all.

Everybody needed a break.

Matt Parkman's breaks consisted of going to the movies. One did not spend one's life in Los Angeles, know several people in the business, and then not develop an all-consuming love of film and cinema.

There was a new one in town that he'd been dying to see. James Bond was second to none, Dick Tracy without a badge (...Or Maybe Mi6 had badges. He'd never seen them pull an FBI trick) So he made the trek to the movie theater in Odessa, leaving Audrey with the promise of returning shortly.

Serial Killers who stole brains were one thing, but THIS. This was James fucking Bond.

And he couldn't be happier as he clutched his re-purchased copy of "On her Majesty's Secret Service" Along with a couple of books on Meditation, his jumbo popcorn, and his coke.

It was brilliant.

Everything from the run-down in Africa to the fight at the chase scene at the Miami Airport. He wondered what the police would say, and what he should do when confronted with Bond (or what he'd be required to do. What would Audrey say about it?)

He wished she was here.

OMGSQUEE THEY SO CUUUUTE

Wishes of that nature were interrupted by a loud thought situated a few chairs behind him.

He swallowed more of his coke.

Bond had just met Vesper Lynd on the train, gorgeous girl really-totally Bondgirl material-

So cute! so Cuuuuuuuuttee-

That's getting slightly annoying.. He shoved a handful of popcorn into his mouth and drank more coke.

She's such a traitor! omg it's so saaaad-

Oh hell no.

No no James! Dun doo eet! Bond was now staring at vesper lynd's backside, You're gonna get your heart broken cause she's gonna betray you to the Villian and omg duuuuuuunnn!

Matt hadn't read Casino Royale. Books were foreign objects to him.

He twitched, "...Fuck."

His seatmates ordered him to be quiet.

The movie progressed, and Matt was suddenly reminded of what they said at the very beginning along with the "please silence your cell phone" commericals. Do not spoil the movie by adding your own soundtrack

He couldn't complain could he?

Ow! that's gotta hurt-

Dude! That's so not a real poker hand.

You know Bond's gonna loose-

What the fuck's he being a whiny baby for?

....Yeah that leaves nothing to the imagination, are they gonna have hotsex now?

So cute!

It was right about the point where the villian had bond in his clutches. The guy was pulling an Abu Grabi and hitting his balls with a-

The thoughts swelled to a din.

Motherfucker!
Damn! Shouldn't this be rated R?
NC-17 Material!
That's just MESSED THE FUCK UP
What the hell bitches! what the-
Okay, now that's kind of ho-

At that last thought he whirled around to face the smiling asian man he sat next to and disregarded.

Goddamnit

He practically bolted out of the theater-adding his own soundtrack as he went.

"Hey!"
"What the hell!"
"we're trying to watch here!"
"-Make a better door then a window-"
"Jackass!"

Ask-

hearthethoughts (Matt Parkman), algiersloveknot (Vesper Lynd), fathers_cleric (John Preston), neverswimalone the Madagascar Penguins, againstcovenant (the Master Chief), and/or cavemother (sarah radcliff) and man_ofthewatch (jon snow)

Anything.

AT all.

Except "Where are you and why haven't you been talking to you writer more.

"....Okay so. Twas the night before christmas. And all through the city of LA people were trying to rush home and speed because they totally didn't realize that it was christmas and some people had to freakin' work on christmas-"

"Sorry. anyway. So Twas the night before christmas and all through the house, not a creature was stirring, except maybe the mice, but that was pretty much taken care of because they were calling the extermin-

Okay! Okay. So. People were asleep when suddenly BAM! There's a noise on the roof! And I go for my gun right? Because it's on the ROOF and chances are it's a prowler. And Janice is yelling at me "Matt-go back to sleep it's nothing, it's nothing. Like that ever happens. We had a break in a couple of years ago, even up in the nicer neighborhoods in Los Angles you're still susceptible to crime."

I head outside and there's this shadow on the grass right? you can't see it really well cause of all the lights, but there's this GUY in a CAR on a roof. And My first thought is that it's the teenagers over at UCLA playing a prank on a professor again, but he's got little dogs hooked up to it-with horns.

"Anyway, there's this voice. And it's calling out a bunch of names. What were the names? Um...Dasher..Dancer...prancer....vixen....enrico...mendez.....jones-"

Alright! I can't recite all the reindeer. Are you happy? I'm 35 years old, Santa doesn't-well-Santa doesn't come and visit me anymore.

He brings my gifts to the precinct and we all sit around the tree and open them on the day after christmas.

Anyway, I hear a thump downstairs right? And there's this guy. And he's big and fat and jolly and His nose looks like a cherry-or like he's been doing nasal decongestant. And he's got a serious weight problem, but I emphasize with the guy right? I mean, he probably gets tired and hits the donut shops on his world trip. Nothing wrong with that.

Anyway. So the dude sets out all these presents. And fills the stockings. And I'm like, "Okay, why would a prowler be leaving gifts? But he grins at me? and Suddenly it's like there's this voice in my head going, "Merry Christmas Officer."

And I'm grinning like the biggest idiot ever because he totally got me the southpark DVDs that I wanted and the Lakers Jersey-

I didn't just hear that. The Lakers are awesome.

And the Raiders.

Anyway. So He totally got me everything that I wanted, and what was really special was that he bought Janice the chair that she was going to get at Ikea so we didn't have to face the day-after traffic on the I-15.

So I go to the window and it's like something out of a holiday spectacular and there's all this music and he yells out "Merry Christmas to all! And to all a good night!" And I really didn't have the heart to ask him to say Happy Holidays because he's totally right and it's just about the peace, love, and understanding. And LA kinda needs a little not-politically correct am I right? Right.

Now. Sleep.

[Millitimed to a few days ago]

Matt opens the door all sneakyninjalike. If Anything, His room resembles a comfort inn non-smoking single.

He closes the door, "S-so. Music?"

Must. Find. Musicplayer

Matthew Parkman is downstairs sitting at the bar and staring at the wall.

"...If I were to tell you that holding me against my will-would that have any effect on you at all?"

Bar says nothing.

"...Unlawful imprisionment? Ever see that movie with Anthony Hopkins and Ted Strathamore-" Poor Matt can never remember the name of movies, just the actors in them.

Bar still says nothing.

"...Wife..Family...job-all on the other side of that wall."

This is getting him nowhere.

"...Okay then." He snorts, "...Too bad you're not a person. I'll have coffee and a donut? One of those sprinkled ones."

Matt gets hot chocolate and a panera bagel with tomato spread.

"....Thanks."

Disgruntled cop with the barest of shields up and bar feeling slightly sadistic humorous. He could be bothered.